


WHERE SON?

by Kitkatkimble



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Crack, I am so sorry, M/M, all crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2169690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitkatkimble/pseuds/Kitkatkimble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anduin has a nasty habit of being utterly predictable right up to the point where he isn't anymore.</p>
<p>Theoretically, Wrathion already knows this. Unfortunately, theory doesn't really kick in before lunchtime, so when Varian Wrynn comes storming into his room at the crack of dawn, he just goes with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	WHERE SON?

“WHERE SON?”

Wrathion bolts upright, turban askew and hair curling out from underneath. He’s probably about eight seconds from a temper tantrum and twelve from falling back to sleep again. Turns out that Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind and the Depths of Six O’clock in the Morning, is five seconds from slamming open his door, which means that he beats Wrathion to the chase.

“What are you doing here?”

“WHERE SON?” Varian demands.

“BEDROOM.” Wrathion buries himself under the covers again until he’s bodily dragged out. Varian tows him down the stairs, much like a piece of luggage, but because it’s not even light out yet, Wrathion can’t bring himself to do anything about it.

It’s safe to say that Anduin is not in his room. However, the window is open and a string of sheets drop from it, and Wrathion and Varian groan in sync.

“Light damn it, Anduin,” Varian says.

“I did not get dragged out of bed for this,” Wrathion says.

Unfortunately, Anduin is a prince, and therefore it seems necessary (at least to Varian, Wrathion is still on the fence) that they go find him. Because he totally hadn’t wandered around Pandaria on his own before, unguarded and helpless.

Wrathion snorts. Anduin is a lot of things, but helpless is not one of them. He learnt that the hard way.

He tries to struggle back to his comforting, warm, bed, but Varian doesn’t even notice. He just keeps walking, nods at Right and Left, and strolls out of the tavern.

“Your highness,” says Wrathion with as much dignity as he can muster, “perhaps it would be wiser not to run headlong after your son and take some time to compose ourselves and make use of our vast spy networks.”

Varian just gives him a deadpan look.

He’s got a point. Anduin is only found when he wants to be, and on a few rare occasions, after some furious searching and hair pulling.

“Where would Anduin have gone?” Varian demands.

“I don’t know! He’s unpredictably predictable!”

“What.”

Wrathion sighs. “He’s predictable right up until when he isn’t.”

He can’t see Varian’s face, but he can feel the eyeroll. This is his second meeting with the Alliance king, but every time Wrathion gets the feeling that Varian has two moods: pissed off, and 100% done with this shit.

A contrast to his son, who spends more time laughing at Wrathion than he does breathing.

The steps on the Veiled Stair are not fun climbing up. They are not fun being dragged along, either. Wrathion is very tempted to transform into his draconic form and ditch Varian, but he enjoys being alive, and something about Shalamayne and Varian’s mildly irritated demeanour make him reconsider.

“This is the fifth time that Anduin has disappeared into Pandaria,” Varian mutters. “Don’t know why no one keeps a better eye on him. He’s seventeen, is it really that hard? I was never this difficult as a teenager.”

Wrathion looks up at the sky. The sun is just peeking out of the corner of his vision. “I sincerely doubt that, your highness. Besides, it is not my business where Anduin goes. Would you rather I have tried to stop him?”

“You’re a terrible influence and he knows it.”

“True,” he agrees cheerfully. “But Anduin isn’t influenced unless he wants to be.”

Varian shuts down at that.

Wrathion prods at the hand wrapped in his collar. “What?”

“Influence is something Anduin has a lot of experience with,” is all Varian deigns to reply. Wrathion gets the hint.

He is dragged all the way up and down the Veiled Stair for what feels like hours, the grip on the back of his shirt never relenting. Every passing traveller – not that there are many, it being arse o’clock in the morning – is greeted with the same words:

“WHERE SON?”

One poor Pandaren is so startled that she literally falls backwards and nearly ends up at the base of the Path of One Hundred Steps again. Wrathion snickers, then straightens his face and remembers his situation. He isn’t really in a position to be laughing at anyone.

Eventually, because even Varian gets tired climbing up and down steps in plate armour, they head back to the Tavern of the Mists. This time, the sun is setting over the other side of the sky. Wrathion gives Left and Right an unimpressed glare, but Left just grins at him and fist bumps Right. Wrathion hates them.

“If you’re quite finished humiliating me,” he says haughtily, straightening his turban, “I will be in my room. Do not enter. Anduin will return when he wants.”

He climbs the staircase with more than a little reluctance, glaring at the boards. He is never climbing stairs again. Never. He is going to fly everywhere. Humans are stupid.

He pushes open the door to his room. Anduin is lazing on his bed like he belongs there (which he does, make no mistake; Wrathion _likes_ the look of Anduin on his bed, even if Anduin is less inclined in that direction). He shuts the door and turns mechanically to walk back down the stairs.

“Found son,” he says, sitting down in front of the Jihui board.

Varian looks up, and Wrathion points upstairs.

“SON!”

Anduin, with that weird talent of his, appears over his father’s shoulder.

“Yes, Father?”

Varian leaps a foot in the air, and Wrathion could swear that his hair stands on end like a cat’s when it’s been startled.

“ANDUIN!”

Anduin blinks innocently. “What? I thought you and Wrathion were taking a walk. Was I wrong?”

“Where were you?”

“I’ve been in and out of my room all day, doing physical therapy.” He points to his leg. “Remember?”

Wrathion and Varian give him equally blank looks, and he rolls his eyes. Wrathion can’t help but note the familial similarity.

“Climbing exercises,” he elaborates. “One of the medics recommended them, because it builds up upper arm strength and leg strength but the weight on the legs can be adjusted.”

“Right?” Wrathion asks, gaze unfocusing. “Are humans always like this?”

“Quite often.” He can hear her shark-like smile. “Sorry, your highness.”

“Right. Good, good, thank you, Right. Left?”

“Yes?”

“Cognitive recalibration may be necessary.”

“As you wish.”

The last thing Wrathion hears before Left obligingly knocks him out is the pitter-patter of feet, and Varian’s exasperated yell of, “ANDUIN LLANE WRYNN STAY _PUT!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Completely and utterly based off the WHERE SON tumblr post from a bazillion years ago because it still makes me laugh and I am a piece of shit.


End file.
